This Isn't Any Ending
by VaRuka
Summary: When the end is near, the begining is nearer. Buffy will make the end. Spike will make the begining. All because she is confused by what she wants. All because he only wants what is his.
1. Buffy Ends

This Isn't Any Ending  
  
Author: VaRuka  
Disclaimer: I like to play with these "barbies", and these "dream houes" . . . they've become a habit. They're so goddamn addictive . . .   
Author's Note: It's just words.  
Rating: Pg-13 or R . . . I dunno . . . me being me and all.  
Feedback: Duhish.  
Summary: When the end is near, the begining is nearer. Buffy will make the end. Spike will make the begining. All because she is confused by what she wants . . . all because he only wants what is his. . .   
  
"Do we have to do this, my love?"   
"I can't live with you, but I can sure as hell live without you."   
"So . . . this is how you want it to end . . .? I believe it's a pretty decent ending."  
"In your sick mind, what do you suppose we are ending?"  
"Me. Us."  
"There was never an us, just a you, and our body parts."  
"You were never there, but I foolishly held onto the bloody fucking hope that one day you would finally understand, see, love our twisted beauty!" His roar of old beliefs startles my determination, along with my stance.  
"Spike," My voice wavers in authority, sending sparks of hope that just began to diminish flare, "it was . . . it was . . ."  
"Beautiful." His clear as the swirling sky blue eyes capture my gaze in such emotion I am mystified that I haven't noticed the poetic quality of them before.  
This can't be. This is Spike. I am The Slayer. Mortal enemies don't trip over a very big boulder and find love in each other. Hello, mortal enemies, mortal enemies, we're . . . mortal enemies. He was a killer, a murderer, a heartless being made for drinking blood, made to inflict pain, simply kill, and he, he, he still is. I protect all he destroys, but then again, lately, he hasn't destroyed anything but maybe a beer bottle or two in a fit of pure frustration . . . caused by me, of course.  
"Murderer." I hiss with newfound somewhat stable conviction, eyes narrowing to attack.  
"Savior." He purrs in that sexy accent that makes me wanna ride him into that black void where it's just me and him, him and me, "Killing me won't make it stop, " Like I know what "it" is, I softly gulp, "Do what you're born to do . . . save. Save me."  
"You want me to save what I was born to kill?" My eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, "How off the books do you think I am?"  
He throws up his hand in undiluted outrage, "You're gonna kill a bloke for doing what he had to do to survive!?" Dangerously he takes a well placed step forward, closer to me, inches closer, "I guess now you're gonna go out and kill a bloody lion for making a lunch out of the poor helpless Zebra chap."  
Can't he see how hard this is for me? I haven't even begun to comprehend what we have, why the sparks fly when we're together, why I mentally bow to his mind as well as his body. Now he had to go and add lions and Zebra's to this murky mix. How his logic contradicts mine and points out all of my logic's over looked facts and mistakes! How, how, utterly true he sounds . . .   
Does he expect me to now stop killing evil demon vampires because they can't help that they crave the source of a human life? Spike can not possibly believe that I'll let him go free, because, 'cause, he lost his chip, he's a danger to those I've vowed to protect. WRONG! This shit is all wrong.  
"Lions? Zebras?" I fling him a look of complete bemusement, "You're bringing wild animals into this!"  
He rolls those captivating eyes of his in disgust, "Don't play the dumb blonde routine on me, Buffy." Another step closer, "You soddin' get what I'm throwing your way. Be a good dog and pick up the bone . . . Buffy, love, this can't be all about your high and mighty being The Slayer side, the girl side in you is confused, scared, tired of fighting . . . tired of fighting everything." I open my mouth and flap it like a fish, a tender finger touches them in a shushing gesture ending my embarrassing moment, "Choose my love, kill me or kiss me. Choose now, and forever head the consequences."  
With a slight tremor through my body, forehead gleaming with sweat, I back up into a cold crypt wall. I have to end this, end it all. If he dies, these feelings die right along with him, these doubts, these frightening realizations. They fucking better. The Slayer in me wants to stake the arrogant and love struck bastard, the girl wants to embrace what he has to offer, from his words, to other places . . . down south.   
So seductively convincing he can be, so totally truth. Where does he learn my deep dark secrets, my forbidden desires, notions, feelings??!! And what the fuck is with the ultimatum? Kill me or kiss me? How over dramatic is that? I shakily inhale to get more oxygen to my brain, maybe that might help clear these exasperating thoughts. Maybe it will hand me my choice on a silver platter with some nachos on the side . . . or maybe not.   
"You feel something for me." His shiver of a whisper sends me in a frenzy of emotions as deep as his own, pushing and shoving in that toned body of his, "Don't deny it anymore, accept me, accept us." His voice drops so low I fear he may be on the edge of tears, "If you don't, just forget my demand and kill me now, kill me, save me from your final rejections, your final bloody decision."  
Such raw emotion in a few words from his lips get me spiraling down another path of thought. I feel . . . something for him . . . I do. But to tell him so, to fuel that burning desire of hope and love, I'd hate to watch it flicker and die. For that's what I always do. For that's what always happens, it sparks, it flames, it collapses in on itself. He's heartless, well not technically, but it has stopped beating so long ago, can it really love? Is it just infatuation? Can it, would it, work? Not, in my mind, not in my mind. I kill his kind . . . I kill them . . . not fuck or love.   
I croak out a single word that holds more meaning to the both of us than any person could fully grasp, "Yes."  
"I'm never bloody wrong, you do feel it." He lightly jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.  
"But I cannot act any further on it, I can't, I can't, I won't."  
"Be mine?" The question packs a sucker punch.  
I hesitantly laugh a bitter laugh filled with hatred of my own words, "If only I could."  
Tears shine in his watery eyes, beckoning me to mend his open emotional wound, ". . . I'm yours . . ."   
"I know, I know, I know." I quickly mumble, fading in and out of coherency, "Mine, mine, mine . . ."  
His eyes glisten with something more than unshed tears as I gaze once again into their blue depths. Predatorial. Primal. Vampiric. Three words describe the change that commences, the gleam in his eyes. He wouldn't . . . Would he? I can't let this happen.  
I'm The Slayer. The responsible one. I'm in charge of playing mother to the world and protecting it, human drives be damned, human feelings be damned. What have I wormed my way into? If only Spike hasn't fell so hard. It's so palpable since I've just accepted the truth, as well, truth that his love is real. Waves. Waves. In waves it crashes onto my shore, bearing down on me, drowning me in it's comforting expanse and undertow.  
Spike is a vampire. My enemy. My . . . love? Well, he would be if we had more time for my butterfly feelings to develop. Funny, I really don't have the time. Got to work, not play. Got to do what I am made to do, what I am here to do. Save. But I cannot save him, my dark beauty of an enemy, my "Lestat" of the new age, this vampire that has been through hell and back. And I simply can't let him-  
"I will make, you mine." His voice is set in his course of action that has me ready to raise my stake to pound into his soft heart, at the slightest sign of the non-good.  
"Spike?" I squeak as a mouse I am not, eyes showing my small trust and insecurity at his possessive words.  
My question is answered with an intense kiss of un-measureable passion. Tongues slipping and gliding across each others. Hands groping for something solid to clutch and make react. Groans wafting through the air, of feeling the closet thing to heaven on earth. Eyes clenching shut to ward off any intruding anything that might ruin our special and revolutionary moment in space and time.  
Our moment reluctantly ends as the dead slowly pulls away from the living. I stare straight on, eyes wide with lust and something fairly close to love, but right behind it all, despair like no other at the only solution to our problem. Death.  
One of us must die.   
"Say good-bye to sun tans, baby." Spike's sparkling blue eyes suddenly covert to his golden vampiric ones.  
The words don't hit me until his mouth begins suckling the thin and sensitive skin that is stretched over my jugular. My low moan vibrates through the cemetery, pleasure already built by our make-out session, and now steadily rising.   
He wouldn't . . .   
"Ooh!" I spontaniously moan, muffling the protest that was building within.  
He would . . .  
"Love you, love you, love you so bloody much . . ." He softly reaffirms, going from high to low, so low that it gets lost with the slightest breeze.  
"Don't . . ." My protest is weak to even my own ears, drowning down within my contradicting moans.  
A feral animalistic growl that disturbs and arouses me, slithers past his barely parted lips, "Mine."   
Before I can form a reply of some sort . . . his fangs tear through . . . my scream echos . . . It begins. 


	2. Spike Begins

Author's Note: This chapter is like a the next night.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
To bright. To loud. To everything.   
"Rise and shine, love." Spike's caring coo pierces through all of the other louder than normal sounds.  
"Spike?" I tentatively respond, cracking my eyes a bit wider to accommodate his calming face, "I'm so hungry."  
Yes, so very hungry. A boiling pit is now my stomach, all it wants is to burn me from the inside out . . . burn . . . burn . . . A spasm of hunger pains like I've never experienced before shoots to every nerve ending in my body, sending me into a wincing mess.  
Some residue of a type of slimy liquid remains in the caverns of my mouth, tasting of heavenly sweetness surpassing everything and anything I've ever tasted before. I swallow the last bit down, savoring, basking. Memories are a bit fuzzy and undefined, kinda challenging to recollect. Very hungry. Hungry! Hungry!   
He chuckles unsteadily, boring with his eyes that everything is fine, "Drink up, pet"  
A cup is placed right under my nose, instinctively I sniff to smell the ample alluring waft of the substance. A growl so unlike anything I've ever made, slips out in eagerness of the offering. He urges me on, and I am gulping it down as if I've been in the desert for more months than I can count. My memories slam back into me like a head on collision, subtitles and all. It was going to be the end, but he threw me a curve ball. And right before I blacked out, he was nibbling my neck . . . nibbling? No. That wasn't it. Stupid Buffy brain! Think . . . think . . .  
He was sucking my neck. Sucking my blood.   
Then he . . . Tears begin to prick the sides of my eyes . . . slashed a vein to give me his potent vampiric blood. Red and cold. I remember it now, all of it.  
He did it. He really did. He changed me.   
I'm dead. I'm dead. I'm dead. A new Slayer has been called, a new Warrior of Light, to do my duty. Giles . . . he'll be the first to know . . . the council will tell . . . will send the new one here . . . Oh how I fucking failed!   
The little selfish puppy of a vampire! No wonder my senses are on over drive. No wonder I feel this gigantic craving. I gulp down the last drop. That is why he's feeding me warm . . .  
"Blood." I sputter with a full mouth, ending up with blood oozing down the corners.  
Spike recklessly flings the cup behind him. I speedily sit up in his silky bed, eyes wide beyond comprehension, sadness at his betrayal shining through their watery exterior. His stance is venerable and weak, but as fast as lightening flashes it transforms to the animal he is. He leans forward to frightfully creep up my body, forcing me to lay back down once again. Enthralled by his visible beauty and love, I let him do so.   
"Forgive me . . . no other choice . . . need you . . ." Spike huskily whispers, taking long lazy licks at his scarring bite marks, "I have no regrets. You and me . . . deserve each other, Buffy, crave and need each other, to the point where we fear each other." He firmly situates himself over me, comfortably nestling between my thighs, "I have you. Will you now have me?"  
I shudder with the overdrive he is putting my senses through at another lick to that very sensitive spot. His seduction is almost to good to resist, to good to deny, so gorgeously evil. But I was once a Slayer, not a vampire, I still hold strong ties to my old self, and I find my big girl voice, my shaky voice of reason:  
"Stake me."  
His wandering hands halt in shock. Deep as the ocean blue eyes burn with anger. Jaw clenches with outrage. My body stays immobile as he scrambles off the bed in a hurry and proceeds to wear a hole through the floor with his habit of pacing, along with that other annoying habit of muttering. Shiny bleach white hair getting mussed each time his hand runs through the locks.  
I cannot live as a vampire. I will not. A Slayer needs to die in battle. Not get turned into the thing it hates . . . I glance at Spike longingly . . . or might love. I have a life. I have friends that need me. Willow and her spunky attitude. Xander and his snarky comments. Giles and his father like manner. Dawn and her dependence on me . . . Damn, all of them depend on me, even the world does. Not every girl can say that.   
My job is to kill demons, not become one. All Spike's fault. All 'pussy whipped Spike's' fault. So what if he did it for us both . . . just so I don't have to be tired and used anymore. So what?! Oh God, stake me. My thoughts are turning against the logic of the situation! If I really thought more and tuned into my Buffy self . . . I don't want to become dust to feed the breeze.  
I grope around deep inside me, and find, a primal demon fueled on its own instincts living peacefully inside me, being apart of me now. It demands to live, to feed, to fuck, to mate, to live. Over and over, over and over, over and over. It dominates me, it's what now is trying its hardest to influence me of its ways.   
"Bloody fucking hell!!!" Spike bellows, causing the poshly furnished bedroom under his crypt to vibrate with the accented terms, his loving eyes caressing my scantily clad form before locking into, my eyes, my soul, "I give you, what you want, what I want, and you throw it back in my face!! Don't you feel it?? Don't you love it??" Again he refers to another mysterious It, "How can you fucking ask me to stake you? If I stake you everything I've done," He continues to scream in frustration, "that you've finally admitted, will be for soddin' nothing! NOTHING! Bloody fucking hell!!!"  
The tears that have been saved for this speech, glide and dip down my face in a torrent of salty liquid. He's exactly right, but oh so wrong. I'm not mentally ready for this. A guttural sound just like a wounded wolf empties from my throat, bringing Spike over to me in a blink of an eye. His body limp with exhaustion and understanding of my view. I reach out to touch him, right when he leans in to touch me. He's concerned with my transition from superhuman, to super-vampire, and he's just plain concerned. All over his face in little lines its artfully etched . . . but his eyes they show more than I ever thought could be shown in eyes.  
I silently coax him to drape himself on me, lose himself by means of me, and that is what he does. He somberly entwines our bodies till I cannot tell where he begins and I end. We lay there cuddling and purring (I never knew vampires could purr, go figure) like giant cats, giant vampiric cats. Not another notion or thought flutters through my brain as we settle into a kind of peace dreams are based on.  
But it feels more than that. Kind of the, calm before the storm.  
What storm? The storm has already happened, or was that just an appetizer, and the main course is on its way?  
"I love you . . ." He possessively mutters into my mane of golden hair, nuzzling it with pure affection, seemingly forgetting my earlier statement.  
"I . . ." The words won't form, "know."  
"How are you adjusting?"   
I start to nuzzle his neck, "Bitchy-like."  
A low chuckle erupts from him, "Well, you being a bitch and all . . . I suspected it would feel that way."  
"You didn't even have my consent . . ." Anger simmers underneath my words, attempting to scorch him.  
"Shhh . . ." His tone soft and soothing, "Forgive me."  
I solemnly deadpan, "Never."   
Spike's whole body flinches expectantly, but he recuperates and way to intensely inhales my luscious scent again, "Love me?"  
Moments fly by as I muse this. I feel for him. I care for him. I hate him. He has made me what I am right now, a bloodthirsty monster. Even after drinking some of that pig's blood from that cup . . . I'm still thirsty, the thirst is insatiable. If a human came close enough to touch I'd be on them for all I'm worth. I can't completely . . . control myself . . . Though I hate him for changing me, I'm a bit glad he did it. The reason for the flicker of happiness I have yet to fully discover, or uncover from my denial.   
Ugh.   
I'm leading myself far from the question. Do I love Spike?   
Yes.   
Somewhere terminally mixed with my blinding hate for him, is my fiery love. But can I make him understand? Will he, if I try? My unlife is getting as complicated as my life was!  
"Yes." I pick the simplest answer, relieving him of his carefully hidden doubt, "Permanently blended with my hate for your undead, bleached self, is my love."  
It takes him a second to conduct his analyise of my words and truthfully reply with one of his cheeky little smirks, "Bugger, The Might Slayer's being a bit honest here, never thought I'd still be biting when she admits she loves another vampire . . . a soulless one no less."  
"Never thought . . . I'd become a vampire, a soulless one no less." Unlike his words that were full of mirth, mine are shallow and empty.  
Hastily his face nuzzles down to my neck, splaying violent kisses at my bite marks. Without any warning his fangs emerge and digs into them, again. My nerves sing with rare sensations that get my juices flowing, again. I scream through the fogging bliss he has trapped me in . . . again.   
And for the first time I vamp out, eyes golden yellow, fangs scissor sharp, ridges taking up residence along my face, and eyebrows gone. Why do our eyebrows have to go anywhere, anyway? And where do they go? Time for those answers later though . . . for I can't resist the urge to feed, any longer. . .  
With a roar of an animal who is just getting its first meal I clamp down like a vise on Spike's enticing neck. Not warm. Cold Fire. Fulfilling. Grade A.   
And further down the rabbit hole I descend. Hell is just a blink away. But at this particular moment nothing could tell me this is wrong, when it feels righter than two plus two makes four. Strangely Spike isn't pulling much blood, just a drop or two. While I on the other hand, am taking enough to fill a bucket.   
Slowly the mild blaze that is in my stomach, is doused to tiny sparks. The hunger is . . . satisfied . . . for now. We retract our fangs in unison. Instincts telling us to go in a cleaning frenzy. My tongue laps up at the leaking wound, as Spike does the same. I find this oddly, comforting, it's spiraling me into contentment. It's not sexual, just sensual. I could get used to this . . . and that's what is scaring the shit out of me. The Slayer, gladly enjoying being a Vampire!? Wrong. Bad. Wrong. No. No. No. My morals won't allow it.   
What morals? You have no soul . . . the demon happily whispers.  
Yanking me face to face by my hair, he grounds out words that pack more of a punch than I ever will, "You are mine." He fondles the fresh vampire bite claim on my tender neck, "And," He giddily smirks, as if he has something so precious to him to show me, "I am yours." After those short words he angles his neck to show off the marks I just made.  
See this is when I would have kicked him till he lost all his blood in sticky puddles around him, but now, I just stare innocently at him, mouth slightly parted in amazement. The animal/demon in me reveling in finding such an adequate specimen to mate with. But me, Buffy, has to weep inside at the consequences of a few words this night has witnessed . . . a few words.   
But then again, I am coming to grips with this situation, what I've got, what I am, how I've changed. And most importantly a glimpse of who I am and who I can be. Why fight the tide? Why fight a tide that promises good things to my satisfactory? Why . . . ? This whole time I have been flinging objections this way and that. Wrong. Bad. Bad. Wrong. Slayer light. Vampire dark. Slayer good. Vampire bad.  
Well, I've now seen Spike's logic, his view, his words in all their truthful glory. Bad is what you confirm it to be. The same goes for good. It's all in the eye of the beholder. The sinner. The saint. The sinner is the saint, the saint is the sinner. We all are what we see ourselves as.   
I see myself still as . . . good. I am a saint basking in my own sin.  
"Mate?" I wishfully want to confirm.  
"Mate."  
Today's Buffy forecast: turbulent storm right ahead. For the best life preserver, buy a Spike. 


	3. They Continue

Epilogue  
  
  
  
I miss them. Years have gone by without the smallest and most minuscule contact with them. A sigh of longing curls from my lips to float into the dense night club.  
"Do you still, miss them, love?" Spike inquires, clasping his arms around me protectively in an overly familiar gesture.  
"Don't you?" My question churns a multitude of memories in him.  
"The bit, absolutely. Red, she was fiery. The whelp, not on your death." A swift jab with my elbow makes him regret that remark, but steadily he goes on as if I didn't just do anything at all, "Glinda, she had a gentle charm. Rupert, the ol' son of a bitch," I can picture the wistful grin on his lips, "of course. He was the only other British bloke around for miles . . ." His hands begin massaging my already swaying hips to the music, "Come on love, lets stop being nostalgic. It's drastically un-constructive to this outing I took my bloody time to plan."  
I release a girlie giggle, "That sounds like a form of diarrhea."  
"See, either way it equals bad." The comment is flippant, showing me where his attention really is.  
I whirl around nestling deep into my lovers arms, purring secretively into his ear, "You're bad."   
"No, baby, no." He tightens his already steel grip around me, sliding his hands excitingly lower, eyes misty and praising "You're bad."  
Smelling my mate's scent all over me sends me in a mental love struck giggling spree. The best years of my life weren't even spent in a living body. Now that's some real irony. If he didn't turn me I would have never admitted my love for him. We would never have traveled the world, gotten to know each other deeper than twins, never ever have experienced this love . . . this love that never fails us, no matter how angry and harmful we get at each other. Hey, you can't buy that in stores!  
But even now, I haven't forgiven him. I did say never. I meant it. The Slayer in me will never bow to that request. He's accepted it though. Spike's just one big horde of love and energy, I'm only here to put him to good use.  
Like to love me, fuck me, buy me things, take me places, kill for me, do anything to please me. What a marvelous way to live out eternity with the one you actually, truly, and fully love . . . Not to sadly though, I do the same exact things for his tight little ass.   
"Badder than bad?" My eyes capture his gaze that I will never get tired of."Do you need to show me?" Spike quirks his mouth into a grin that reminds me of the looks in those underfed kids over in . . . somewhere, but he surely isn't hungry for food . . .  
Dark and mysterious is the atmosphere suffocating us into a sweet oblivion. The heady and musky smell of sweaty humans tickle our noses. The roar of the music pulses through us all. And our hips never cease their slow and sensual grinding. Smiling at him with pure affection, I can see no other future that would have been even a smidge better.  
"Clearly, you want me to show you." I lick my lips, only fueling his hard-on that's rubbing and petting me.  
"In public?" Spike fakes the saddest act of shock, I've ever seen him try.  
And the most weirdest thing I've learned from all of this bloody mess, is don't try to close your eyes to the hated, for they'll peal them open without hesitation, to show you something you might love. I also realized, the dead can have way more fun than the living!  
Snuggling into the bite marks I recently reopened, soaking in that sexy rumbling purr he's projecting, and placing a teasing lick on them, I vocally caress with joyous mirth:  
"Like we've never done it before."   
  
  
  
Author's Note: Don't ask what made me make the ending as I made it. You Spike and Buffy fans . . . should already know. hehe. That was just gay of me, I truly know. So screw me. 


End file.
